


Something Sweet to Tide You Over

by weathervaanes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Derek, Cupcakes, Established Relationship, Food, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 09:53:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weathervaanes/pseuds/weathervaanes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all very simple really; Derek wasn't supposed to be home. See, when Stiles promised his best friend, his brother, his literal best man, that he would bake 72 cupcakes for Anna Victoria's fourth birthday he fucking meant it. He meant it because his alternate plan was to spend Thursday in a funk over Derek being away and surrounded by born wolves with communal living spaces and no sense of the need to use clothing.</p>
<p>And then those plans changed.</p>
<p>-0-</p>
<p>Kitchen sex is a joy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Sweet to Tide You Over

It's all very simple really; Derek wasn't supposed to be home. See, when Stiles promised his best friend, his brother, his literal best man, that he would bake 72 cupcakes for Anna Victoria's fourth birthday he fucking meant it. He meant it because his alternate plan was to spend Thursday in a funk over Derek being away and surrounded by born wolves with communal living spaces and no sense of the need to use clothing.

And then those plans changed.

Stiles is in the middle of mixing the first batch of three that he intends to make when the front door opens. Seriously, he has the flour and the eggs and the sugar—he has everything he needs in the mixing bowl, the KitchenAid spinner moving at a rapid pace, and then Derek just walks in the door, like it doesn’t even matter at all that he’s there.

The counter is a mess of ingredients.  The oven is up to temperature and all Stiles has to do right now is pour the mix into the little cups and stick the trays in before he starts another batch, but all Stiles is capable of is staring as his fiancé walks into the kitchen and puts down his bag, swooping in for a kiss.

“No,” Stiles says firmly, hand covering Derek’s mouth.

Derek’s eyebrows do The Thing.  “What?” he asks, muffled.

“You weren’t supposed to be here.”

His eyebrows do The Other Thing and he pushes Stiles’ hand away.  “Do you have someone upstairs that I should know about?”

Stiles rolls his eyes.  He turns resolutely around.  "I am committed to my goddaughter's cupcakes."

"Did I miss the hand fasting ceremony? Where are you registered?"

He looks over his shoulder.  "How are you back?"

"There wasn't anyone there who would…deal with a beta. I told Scott he should have gone."

"Yeah, well, Scott has priorities."

"Yeah? I think I've got priorities.”  He grins, swooping down to place a warm kiss on Stiles' shoulder.

Stiles huffs.  “You’ve gone more spine and heart than any of those idiots anyway.  You _were_ an Alpha.  None of those losers would give that up for someone.”

“Stiles,” Derek says softly, “I’m here now.  And Scott can deal with them another day.”

“Whatever.”  He rolls his shoulder, dislodging Derek’s chin where it sits.  “I’m working.  You can help me mix the frosting.  But first—here.”  He shoves the two trays of cupcakes at Derek and gestures to the oven.  “Put them in and set the timer for whatever it says on the recipe over there.”

And Derek does.  Stiles gets as far as halfway through the ingredients list for the second batch—which is red velvet this time, and he’s actually really excited about it—before Derek puts his lips on the back of Stiles neck, hands settling on his hips.

“No way, mister,” Stiles says bitterly.  “I have cupcakes to make and a four-year-old to please.  There is no way in hell you are distracting me right now.”

“I haven’t seen you in three days.”

“And it’s nice to see you again too, Derek, really, but I’m busy.”  He turns and gives Derek a quick kiss, just something to appease him.  “I promise you that when I’m done with this, we’ll have ridiculously awesome sex and shower together before we watch Conan, but I promised Scott, okay?”

Derek is silent, but he doesn’t move away.  Still, when Stiles turns to continue mixing, Derek doesn’t try to touch him.  Instead, he simply remains a constant presence at his back, so close that Stiles thinks he can feel Derek’s chest against his back, but it’s a phantom presence, and he has to shake himself to focus.

“There’s still another ten minutes on the timer,” Derek says eventually, when Stiles is pouring the batter into another set of trays.

“When have we ever only taken ten minutes?”

Derek’s response to that is to reach into the bowl, gather a bit of batter on his forefinger and stick it in his mouth.

“Derek,” Stiles scolds, but his eyes are inevitably drawn to the obvious display Derek has concocted for him and Stiles scowls.  “Shameless.”

“You don’t really move while you’re working,” Derek notes calmly, hands now resting on Stiles’ waist.  “You could just stand in one place and keep mixing.”

“Derek—”

But Derek silences him with a kiss, and Stiles automatically melts into it like the sucker he is.  He isn’t sure how long they stand there, arms around each other, just kissing, but it’s a fair while before Stiles leans back and says, “I promised.”

“You’ll keep your promise,” Derek tells him, and Stiles really should care that that’s the voice Derek uses when he’s seducing people into doing what he wants, whether it’s Stiles or someone at work, or even Scott on occasion, except then it’s just creepy.

Derek’s mouth is unendingly distracting, and he kisses Stiles again until the timer goes off, at which point Derek deliberately extricates the finished cupcakes from the oven and pops the raw batter ones in, setting the timer all over again.  Stiles is confusingly turned on, probably because Derek did it all without an oven mitt, and even though his hands are slightly red when he returns, they’re healed and warm and perfectly sturdy in the way they trap Stiles’ hips against the counter.

“Wait, but I—”

“Here.”  Derek turns them around, so he’s leaning against the granite, and then he drops to his knees.  “Go ahead; make the cupcakes.”

Stiles spares a delirious thought to the fact that he’s making sugary treats for a little girl while his fiancé prepares to suck him off, and it’s too ridiculous, too absolutely insane to think about for  much longer, and so he has to close his mind to it.  He can do both things at the same time, appease Derek and have an orgasm, as well as keep his promise to Scott.  It’ll work out fine.

It doesn’t work out fine.  Within seconds of Derek’s mouth wrapping out Stiles’ cock, Stiles has a hand in Derek’s hair.  His eyes are closed, his mouth open, and Derek is such a little shit.  He knows how Stiles gets when Derek’s mouth is on him.  He breaks down, his entire body completely overcome with the heady stimulation.  He is incapable of rational thought or action, and he’s just—just a total fucking mess.  It’s a good thing Derek likes sucking cock so much, because when Stiles moves his hips, Derek just rolls with them and keeps sucking Stiles down.

“Fuck you so much,” Stiles grits out, hands messy with flour and sugar and everything in between already grasping at Derek’s hair.  “Fuck—I have to fuck you.  I have to—Derek, get up here right now—”

The thing about sex is that, while they’re very sexually active for a couple of guys in their thirties—well, Stiles is 28, but whatever—they don’t spend so much time worrying about penetrative sex as they do other things.  Blowjobs are always good, handjobs can even make an evening great, and Derek comes so hard he feels dizzy when Stiles rims him (it elicits the same reaction from Stiles, but Derek makes prettier noises, and he takes better care of his butt, anyway).

When they do take the time to have penetrative sex, Stiles is often on the receiving end.  He’s better at prep and Derek likes staring lovingly into his eyes while they fuck.  He’s a giant fucking sap, and when Stiles is bottoming, it typically lasts longer.  He loves it, obviously, wouldn’t agree to it if he didn’t, but everything is just longer and more drawn out, typically more romantic, and when they have time to do it, it can result in amazing orgasms.  Plus, if Stiles lasts longer than Derek, Derek will blow him afterwards, and when Derek slips his fingers inside to rub up against his prostate—it’s enough to make Stiles briefly recognize the existence of God.

Every so often, Derek will come home from a shitty day at work, collapse on the bed.  When Derek is stressed and horny, he wants only two things: Stiles inside of him, and hair pulling.  Stiles hasn’t really ever questioned it.  It’s a good system, works out really well for them, because Derek can get off from penetration in minutes, and even though it’s awesome to put a cock ring on him and watch him turn red and sweaty just from the need to come, sometimes it’s good to just go for it and have a good romp.  That’s something Stiles occasionally misses about the early days of their relationship—the sex was good, but it didn’t last very long, and it left enough time for extra rounds and the occasional cuddle.  Plus there was that month where they marathoned _Buffy_ after every sexual encounter.  Sometimes they used sex just as an excuse to watch it.

Derek looks up at him, mouth empty and eyes half open.  “Yeah?”

“Shut up and push down your pants.”

So yes, they’ve fucked in the kitchen before.  They’re fucked in every room of the house before, including the library, which is really, really memorable—probably one of Stiles’ favorite rooms to fuck in, actually.  It reminds him of the fantasies he’d had in high school.  It’s a shame neither one of them had the brains or the balls to go for it then and instead had to be sissies and wait until Stiles was in his twenties and away at school.

They have lube and condoms stored in basically every room in the whole house.  In the living room, it’s hidden in the DVD cabinet.  In the den, it’s tucked behind a fake plant.  In the kitchen, it’s hidden behind an old box of crackers than no one has the energy to throw away, and it’s easy to grab while Derek shoves his jeans down to his knees.

Stiles kind of loses focus in everything that isn’t Derek then.  It isn’t until he’s actually _in_ Derek that he realizes they’re a mess, the counter is a mess, the floor is a mess, and they’ve generally made a mess out of, well, everything.  By that point, though, he doesn’t particularly care.

“Hate you,” Stiles says, snapping his hips forward.

Derek moans.  “Really?  It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Fuck you,” is Stiles’ witty response, and that’s when he’s pressing his forehead between Derek’s shoulder blades and fucking him like he needs it to live.  He kind of feels like he does.

“You are.”

Derek goes preverbal pretty quickly.  Not to brag or anything, but Stiles is kind of awesome at this, and he’s been boning Derek for almost 9 years now.  He knows the curves of the road, knows how to get Derek off and how to make the journey there feel heavenly.  He’s also used to the patterns, to the way Derek twitches and sighs and moans, the way he rolls his eyes and grabs onto any part of Stiles that he can.  He also grunts a lot, like a caveman.  It’s disturbing what that actually does to Stiles’ hard on.

“Missed you,” Derek pants, hand covering Stiles’ where it’s latched onto Derek’s hip.  “Fucking missed you so much.  Fuck, Stiles.”

Stiles kisses the back of his neck, his shoulders.  “I know.”

It’s actually hilarious how Derek comes right as the oven timer goes off.  Stiles has been fucking him relentlessly, gliding against his prostate as best he knows how, and when Derek shoots, he makes noises that Stiles can never get out of his head.  They’re his favorite noises ever.  Unfortunately, Derek also gets a little off balance, and it’s entirely possible that the mixing bowl isn’t screwed in tightly enough to its base, so that when Stiles comes, jostling them both into a precarious and very unstable situation, they take the mixing bowl with them when they fall to the floor, and then the entire kitchen really looks like a war zone.

Lying on the ground in the aftermath, still mostly dressed but now covered in jizz and raw chocolate cupcake batter, Stiles rolls over and shoves his face against Derek’s neck.

“The cupcakes.”

“You get ‘em,” Derek mutters, eyes already closed and obviously too lazy to even pull up his own pants.

Stiles stands, disposing of the condom and tucking himself back in.  Thankfully the cupcakes are fine, but Stiles washes his hands and moves them and the other batch to the dining room to await frosting.  The third bath will have to be redone, so Stiles just turns off the oven and stands above Derek, smirking.

“You planned this.”

“I planned a blowjob,” Derek says, sleepy.  “You were the one who needed to fuck me.”

“You can’t just get on your knees for me and not expect my dick to want more.”

At that, Derek sweeps his legs under Stiles’, bringing him down, and even though Derek is his cushion, he doesn’t seem to mind that much.  In fact, he gathers Stiles close and says, “You know, we could just stay here.  Eat the batter.”

“Off the ground?”

Derek shrugs a shoulder.  Stiles laughs, throwing an arm over his chest.  “Sometimes I wonder why I love you.”

When Stiles hears the locks click at the door he winces and tries to scramble to his feet while pulling Derek along. But the mess of batter and ingredients makes it impossible, and they fall into a twisted tangle as the door opens.

"Stiles," Scott whines in absolute distress.  "Stiles, _why_."

"Scott, I can explain."

"You are the worst godfather in the history of godfathers—”

"Hey, now—”

"A four-year-old asked you for cupcakes, Stiles.  She's four. You can't give four-year-olds _sex_ cupcakes!"

"Scott," Derek tries, "it's not like we had sex _on_ the cupcakes."

"SEX CUPCAKES!" Scott screams before turning on his heel and slamming the door closed after him.

Stiles looks at Derek and shrugs.  “He’ll get over it by the time we’ve frosted them—they’re too busy saving money to go pay someone for cupcakes now.”

“Is that super important right now?”

“Not particularly.  Why?”

“Because we’ve just guaranteed that the house will be empty for the next few hours.”  Derek squeezes his hand.  “And I’d like to get you upstairs.”

Stiles beams.  “Last one into the shower has to clean up the kitchen,” he says, and he runs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
